


Ignominious

by Minyron



Series: From Hell we come, to Hell we go [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Accidental Orgasm, Agender Stiles, Alternate Universe - Nazi Germany, Alternate Universe - World War II, Antisemitism, Aryan supremacy, Auschwitz, Child Neglect, Concentration Camps, Dehumanization, Dry Humping, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Emotionally Hurt Stiles Stilinski, German Theo Raeken, Homophobia, Hurt, M/M, Mention of the Warsaw Ghetto, Mentions of actual SS members, Misandry, Misogyny, Nazi Kink, Nazi Werewolves, Nazi apologist rhetoric, Nazis, Other, Partitions of Poland, Polish Jew Stiles Stilinski, Polish Stiles Stilinski, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Psychopath Theo, Racism, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sadistic Theo, Slavery, Verbal Humiliation, Whump, World War II, Xenophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-04-23 12:50:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4877500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minyron/pseuds/Minyron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Theo enjoys to taunt and terrorize Stiles, his latest acquisition from the camp. He just doesn't realize how much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ignominious

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aleska](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aleska/gifts).



> This is set in a WWII verse that I don't have the time/energy to write for now, but is wider than the scene. Theo is a German member of the HJ and Stiles is a Polish Jew prisoner in Auschwitz that he takes out of the camp. In case the tags aren't clear, there is humiliation in the form of many sensitive forms of discrimination - homophobia, misandry-misogyny (genderism) and antisemitism, mostly; including dehumanization. There's not an act of rape but what happens* falls under some definition of sexual assault. Nazi apologist rhetoric is from Theo's viewpoint, since National Socialism is the ideology he's been raised with. If you're not familiar with Nazi kink (I haven't seen much in this fandom) read at your own risk. If it's your thing, enjoy!
> 
> *See in the footnotes [spoilers]

Theodor Raeken never considered himself complicated. He'd always been fascinated by two and only two things: power and violence. An exemplary son of the Reich at 17, he'd been a honorary member of the HJ since he could join at the age of 14. He had a bright future ahead, to join the SS, like his father Herr Raeken. And while his older man was a geneticist, he wanted to be more involved in The Party's political and military affairs; to command. Because The Party was unbridled power. After the world had tried to crush Germany, the Führer had wielded the power of the German people and driven them to conquest. Their extraordinary potential was unleashed. The way of war was the only way of progress, and Ares smiled upon them. No other ideology could've raised the Germans from the ashes like National Socialism had; now they knew why.

Violence was intrinsic to expansion and development. Power wasn't just handed over. Especially when the world conspired to push them down. It had to be taken. To be where they deserved, others had to be held accountable for their crimes against the Motherland. Their resources had been stolen, their honor shamed, their space crowded, their minds poisoned from within. It had been systematic, done beyond a shadow of a doubt to obliterate them. The French, the English, the Jews, the Communists - everyone that wasn't them. But they failed and Germany stood at the apex again, because they were extraordinary, and they rid themselves of the disease.

It was a vital element that was necessary to lead the people forward. Their unity. One blood, one people, one destiny. Only they could care for themselves; and if they could not, they deserved to die. There were always allies, tools to get rid of common foes, but it did not compare with their unity. The Aryans were the Master race like no other was. And that's all that mattered - it's why it did not matter that he was a bastard. His mother may've been a whore, but her race was pure. He was full Aryan in blood and soul. His eyes icy, like his heart, with no compassion for the Untermenschen.

And wasn't the true order beautiful? Suffering was mesmerizing. Nothing in the world caught his attention like seeing life affirmed in victory. Life that deserved life. To ensure that natural order, the rest of the parasites had to be destroyed. The screams, the blood, the pain of their enemies - it was all joy. Because it was the promise of a just future, where those foes would be annihilated. And the future was theirs, for a thousand years.

*

"Good morning, father", Theo saluted, looking down at the man in the table.

He'd just come from his morning run at first light. He loved shifting before everyone else was awake, feeling the wet soil under his paws and the burn in his lungs. Only the closest members of the SS knew about their _enhancements_. Lycanthropy would only empower the race.

Herr Raeken was sipping hot, black coffee as he read a newspaper. He was not a very strong man, but he was a very intelligent one. All assets necessary and useful for the Reich. After all, the work of the geneticists is what had given him new powers. He looked up briefly with vacant eyes, to nod at his son, realizing where he'd come from.

"Good morning", the man echoed, with little emotion in his voice, "I hope your morning stroll felt good?"

"It did.", Theo replied enthusiastically, "but I have to shower now. I'll be in my room for the rest of the morning", he said.

His father nodded again, letting down his cup of coffee with a clink.

“Very well. But don’t forget to be ready for lunch. More personnel from the SS are visiting and I don’t want them to see dirty jews in my house. You should take him back before then.”

Theo pouted, but his eyes still looked smug. “I’ll see what I can do”, he pointed with a smirk, “but rest assured, father, either way they won’t notice he’s here. I’ll train him to behave well.”

His father just stared intently at him, but that was it. Theo left without another word, licking his lips in anticipation.

*

Stiles had led a dog’s life, and he knew he didn’t deserve it. But things piled up one after another, and at some point he’d started feeling like he did. He hated himself even more for it.

As a child, his mother died at their home in Warsaw. She was sick and he was only 13, a few years before the invasion. It changed him. Afterwards, he felt more disconnected from his father, and more connected to her. Even with her absent, that’s what he felt. He’d clutch to her clothes, even wear them sometimes. His dad told him he had to be strong, but he never felt strong. He cried, and he couldn’t stop it. He liked buying and giving her flowers. He’d get contemplative and sad just from the idea they’d never be together again.

And the other kids did not understand him, how he could go from hot to cold in a second, suffer and laugh, jump from one thought to the next in the blink of an eye. Only Scott did. Thankfully, they were close because the pythoness Melissa befriended his father, and at least he had a friend. A friend who knew he was a little weird, talked too much, had odd fascinations, but one who accepted him the way he was. He felt loved by Scott, like they were siblings.

They’d play games sometimes, and he’d always be the girl. He felt comfortable, and didn’t understand why his father was so mad at him. He didn’t understand why being a _boy_ meant cooking and sewing with his grandma was inappropriate.

Later, though, he did. The Germans took over their government, and forced them to move to the Ghetto. It wasn’t luxurious, but his father kept being a policeman, and at least their people were together. That’s what his father said – much like being a boy, he never actually understood what race was about. His mom was Polish and his dad was Jewish. People were different, and were mean to each other all the time, for every reason. It didn’t matter what blood was in your veins or what you looked like. Scott was gypsy and he loved him, but the Jew kids across the street bullied him constantly, and now Scott was not there anymore. So he cried with his grandma when his dad did not see him, when there were too many bottles of empty vodka in the floor for him to. Cursed the cruelty of people.

It only ever got worse. After the illness spread in the ghetto, she died too, and his father only got more distant. The people were gloomier, more closed off, more aggressive. The kids were more violent, calling him names when he went to the factory. Hating on him for his father being a traitor to their people, something he didn’t understand, but couldn’t question; and pointing out that he had never kissed a girl. They paid more and more attention to him. As for the old man himself, he made sure Stiles ate, but he could hardly remember the last time he told him how he felt. He’d learned to hide it, so that his father had fewer things to worry about. A policeman had to serve and protect everyone, and that was more important.

Stiles noticed the atmosphere of hopelessness and chaos, how everything degenerated. By the summer of 1942, when Stiles was 16 year old, the first deportations began. He didn’t know what they were at the time, but his father barely spoke to him those days. He looked pale, and his eyes were blank, like his soul had shattered.

1943 saw only more despair and pain. Stiles was a shell of himself. He felt lonelier than he ever had, thought too much about taking his own life. He didn’t care it was unbecoming of a grown man, he knew he could. But he stood there because his father seemed to be doing worse. The Ghetto community was going to fight against the Germans. It was a lost cause, and his father wanted to take no part in it, but the tensions were becoming unbearable. It looked at times like they’d kill each other, and that the Germans would have all work done for them.

Thankfully, they were deported to Majdanek in April. It’s not that his father thought they’d live – Stiles could see the hopelessness in his eyes –but he knew the man needed the peace of mind. He couldn’t deal with the struggle of seeing his own people reduce themselves to animals anymore. And that was a relief. It also got them closer together, which only made it more painful when Stiles was moved to Auschwitz.

By that point, as he put on the pyjamas with the six-pointed star, and was thrown into the camp, he admitted why he was still alive. It was not because he was strong. It was because he was weak, too cowardly to do anything but accept what had been given to him. And maybe, that was why he felt the way he did. Why he deserved it.

*

It had been much worse for Stiles when he’d been in the camp. They weren’t fed enough, soups just glorified water, and he’d lost his spoon to bullies.

The last thing he expected was to be taken in by Theo Raeken. It had happened early one morning, when the SS were patrolling the camp. Theo stayed behind his father, Joseph Mengele and Irma Grese, as well as some other SS officials. He wanted to take a closer look at a Jewish kid who was being intimidated into a wall. Fate had seen fit to place two of the three same Warsaw Ghetto bullies with him in Auschwitz; understandable as they were hard-working young lads, and they hadn’t been deported too soon to Majdanek. Then again, Theo had also only so much as looked at them before they were running away with their tails between their legs, and Stiles was thankful for that. Theo had stared intently at Stiles, piercing him with those dead-cold blue eyes. He could swear he saw a transient flash of yellow.

‘ _How does getting out of here sound, Jew?_ ’

Stiles hadn’t had a choice in the matter, of course, and he quickly walked after Theo with his head down. He spoke only when necessary, and was taken into the house for “domestic work”. But he had to wonder if he wasn’t better off at the camp. Theo was as vague as possible with instructions, screaming at him constantly for slights, real or imagined, and getting in his space. He questioned everything about him. He taunted Stiles with every insecurity he could think of, studying him, eager to get a response. It was more elaborate than just being called _fag_ , like the bullies had done. Theo enjoyed the way he broke down sobbing, as he went desperate to apologize for merely existing, for being who he was, for being useless and unworthy. The German was sure to give him time to recover before he tormented him again, to give Stiles the illusion he could grow a skin that couldn’t be flayed, baring his soul. He’d seen the technique before from soldiers, the way only cruelty lay underneath. They were all evil bastards.

Cruelty commands respect, they said.

Thing is, Theo never touched him. He still felt vulnerable, but he was feeling well-fed again, and had no bruises for the first time in months. So he took what he could get. Even when he was back at the camp the bullies didn’t approach him anymore. And he let a sigh of relief, confused that he both dreaded and looked forward to being in the house. There he’d met Heather and had started having a real friend for the first time in years.

She was a Polish Jehovah’s witness, the sweetest person he’d ever met. She comforted him, gave him a shoulder to cry on and reassured him after Theo tore him down; it’s why he clung to sanity, the only ray of hope in his hell. And she knew what to say. At first he’d wondered if Theo had taken her in for other purposes than cleaning, but he learned that he actually treated her quite well. Apparently he took her to infuriate Irma Grese, who also wanted her. Heather seemed to be sheltered from the horrors outside, as she didn’t even know what she’d been spared from. Theo’d never hit her either, and Stiles appreciated that, whatever it meant. Only when she tried to make it easier for him she ended up slapped, which is why he’d told her to stay out of it as much as possible.

“He’s coming”, Heather whispered shakily, gulping as her scrubbing got more intense.

She moved away from the floor around the door as far as she could, and looked up at Stiles doe-eyed.

“It’s alright”, Stiles said, though he knew it was not. He looked down at her from a chair, where he was sitting, cleaning a wooden box. His gaze was cold, a terrible emptiness reflected. His cheeks where slightly hollowed, not malnourished anymore but still thin and darkened by the shadows, in contrast with his pale skin elsewhere.  He had dark circles under his eyes from chronic exhaustion.

Stiles’s mind went blank, no words leaving his mouth when Theo came in. He looked radiant, and happy, something he’d come to associate with unkindness. He didn’t look tired, but he’d obviously broken a sweat. He ignored Stiles and Heather in favor of heading for the room’s bathroom, and discarded pieces of clothing in the bed quickly.

Stiles tried to look down and say a polite ‘ _good morning’_ without a shaky voice, but he only managed to gulp. He saw the other boy’s muscles flex when he took off his shirt. He had finally managed to vocalize the ‘ _g’_ when he heard the door close loudly, and Heather’s shoulders slumped down when she sighed, relieved.

Inside the bathroom, Theo smirked to himself as he turned on the faucet. They didn’t know, but he could always hear them from afar.

*

When Theo left the bathroom, Heather had almost finished cleaning the entire floor, and she tried not to look up. Stiles was just waiting for her. He sometimes helped her when nobody could see, but Heather insisted he didn’t. Theo either treated them like objects and ignored them, or called them out for being impolite for not greeting him first, depending on his mood.

Which is why Stiles was caught off guard when Theo looked at him, completely naked, and said cheerily, “Good morning”

“Good morning, sir”, Stiles replied, standing up and looking down at his shoes, trying for his salute to be acceptable. He couldn’t get his perfect muscles out of his mind.

Theo smiled and ignored him, changing into his uniform, which meant someone would visit the house today. He motioned for Heather to close the door. Stiles hated overhearing the horrible things they talked, but sometimes he was too curious for his own good. Theo carefully buttoned his shirt up as he finished dressing. Stiles was intently looking in another direction with a light blush, very interested in Heather’s resumed scrubbing.

“I have decided you deserve a prize”, Theo said suddenly, looking at Stiles. He locked gazes with him as he finished the last button.

Theo threw the Nazi armband at him, discarding it, and Stiles flailed a bit to catch it. He didn’t like being _too_ formal. Stiles placed it on the table at Theo’s indicative gesture.

“A prize, sir?”, Stiles croaked, feeling his mouth dry.

“Yes!”, Theo said, lighting up, “See, I’ve seen you looking at the uniforms a lot, I bet you wish you could be like one of us”, he added, “And I mean, who wouldn’t?”, Theo went on, breathing out a laugh.

Stiles felt nauseous, and he knew this wouldn’t end up well. Theo liked to think Stiles admired the military, but he was just curious about stuff. It was about the only things of him that hadn’t died out. But he _hated_ soldiers since he was a kid, how couldn’t Theo see that? He’d learned better than to argue him when he was convinced of something, though.

“But for that you have to be a man first”, Theo said deadpan.

“You’re a virgin, right, Stiles? Never had the chance with a Ghetto whore? You probably cried too much for them to consider you as an option.”

Stiles broke eye contact, looking down embarrassed, and Heather tore her gaze away too. She bit her lip so hard she drew blood. Theo loved to mock Stiles, but today he’d cut straight to the point. As always, Stiles felt unprepared. Theo did nothing but push and push, full of himself.

“Look at me when I talk to you. And answer my question”, Theo commanded, his tone suddenly drier, in warning.

Stiles looked up and swallowed noticeably, trying to remain as unfazed as possible. In reality he was scared, but his voice didn’t let out much.

“I am a virgin, sir. I’ve never been with a woman.”

“Good”, Theo said satisfied, “because that’s the prize I was talking about.  I’ve noticed you and my little friend here get on too well. One would wonder why you haven’t jumped at each other yet, though I have my theories.”

Stiles’s eyes opened wide, and his panic flared up at the implication. He started breathing faster, and calmed himself down by clenching his hands behind his back. He couldn’t avoid stealing a glance at Heather, who had stopped abruptly at the mention.

Theo _couldn’t_ seriously want him to rape Heather. He knew the things Theo said to him were fucked up and downright mean, but he had never expected this from him. It was out of the equation. It was horrible.

Theo walked towards Heather and picked her up by the arm violently, looking at her determinedly, as if daring her to resist. She didn’t. He guided her towards the bed and bent her over the footer. He lifted her dress to show her ass in her undergarments, shredding them before guiding the remains down to her knees, her thighs bare.

He slapped her ass and she let out a shriek.  Stiles looked away when he saw it starting to redden. Theo was always like this, and he felt stupid for being so clueless. It didn’t matter he hadn’t _hurt_   them physically, he paid no mind to them. He didn’t care for them, he only ever did what he wanted, took what he wanted. Stiles should’ve known. Theo only thought of himself; all Germans thought was themselves, and the rest of the world suffered for it.

“Come and do it”, Theo said calmly, looking at Stiles.

His knuckles went white, and he gasped for air.

“No”, Stiles replied reflexively.

“What do you mean ‘ _no_ ’?”, Theo replied darkly, squinting his eyes.

“No, I won’t”, Stiles said loudly, “I can’t, Sir, I’ll do anything but this”

“You will do as you’re commanded”, Theo said steadily, “or you will pay the consequences”

They held gazes for five seconds, and Stiles breathed deeply, trying to rein in his panic. He knew what Theo could do if he wasn’t happy.  He knew the consequences – he didn’t care for his own; that he didn’t eat, or that he returned for too long at the labor camp. But he cared for Heather’s, what he could do to her himself, or worse, give her to Irma.

He found himself taking step after step, until he was the one standing behind Heather’s bare ass. Theo took a step aside, made place for him as he smiled, amused. He loved so much when things went  his way that Stiles felt sick again. Theo suggestively placed Stiles’s hands on her hips, and pulled his pants down brusquely, a mischievous smirk on his face. Stiles yelped.

He briefly patted Stiles’s shoulders when he walked away, sitting on a chair on his desk and turning it around to watch them.

“Don’t make me wait”, Theo threatened.

Stiles gulped again, looking down at Heather’s ass and his flaccid dick. He felt anxious. He felt cold. He felt his throat too dry and tight. He was as far removed from an erotic situation as he could get, and he knew it _wasn’t_ going to work even if he tried. Theo could make him do what he wanted, but he couldn’t just command him to get aroused at a woman, like _this_.

Stiles knew he couldn’t, but he also knew he had to. He was on the verge of a panic attack, and he fumbled with his cock, trying to stimulate himself while he hyperventilated. He knew he was positively terrified now, and he could feel his dick shrink, not enlarge. He choked back a sob as he tried to push his hips, and he felt Heather tremble when just rubbed uncomfortably against her ass cheeks.

Theo was biting down a laugh, but then just got up, making Heather clench her whole body. Stiles looked at him pleadingly while he took a step back from her. Theo took off his jacket, resigned at things not going smoothly. Theo looked down briefly and saw Stiles wasn’t ready, and Stiles noticed he was carrying a pocket knife. He could taste bile in his mouth as Theo got closer, the knife menacingly nearing Stiles’s crotch.

“It looks like you’re having some trouble?”, Theo told Stiles, getting in his space. He placed a hand on his shoulder, pressing on it, and Stiles just nodded hesitantly. He didn’t know what Theo wanted to hear.

He couldn’t stop looking at the blade, and he opened his eyes wide. He was sweating, and tried to squirm away from Theo’s grip, but Theo was holding his shoulder steadily. Stiles thought the boy was stronger than could be natural.

“Oh, don’t worry”, Theo chuckled, bringing the knife up, “I’m not a savage”, he clarified, “though it’s not like that would matter, all in all, the way you’re using it”

Stiles didn’t get time to relax because soon the knife was over his jugular, a sharp and cold blade pressing against his smooth skin. Theo’s breath ghosted over his ear shell, and he placed himself right behind Stiles, slotting his crotch in his servant’s ass. Stiles could feel the press of a soft bulge behind the uniform’s pants, and he felt an odd rush of heat wash over him with it.

“Perhaps you need some instruction”, Theo whispered.

Then he moved. He pushed forward, almost making Stiles slump over Heather, but he caught Stiles before he fell by the wrists. One hand each, placing them softly over the girl’s hips. He thrusted with his own, pushing Stiles’s forward with the motion.

“This is how you do it”, Theo said kindly to Stiles’s pulsing neck

He slowed down and punctuated the thrusts more, deeper, pressing him and Heather hard against the footer. She was sobbing, and Stiles had his bloodstream filled with adrenaline. Soon he gained speed, getting more intense.

As unexpectedly as everything Theo did, he placed a hand in Stiles’s bare thigh, and the boy started to feel himself harden against his will. Fucked up as it was, he was getting excited, but feeling Heather’s tremors against him only made him feel sicker.

Theo quickly grabbed Stiles’s semi, and it twitched to life before he let it go. Stiles let out a small moan. Still off-guard, Theo suddenly stopped and pushed on Heather’s side.

“Move, move”, he urged, and Stiles noticed for the first time Theo was breathless.

Heather complied, removing herself and bringing her dress down as she fell to the floor, crawling away from them. Theo let go of Stiles’s wrists. He placed a hand over his nape and squeezed, and put the other on his side. He bent Stiles down like he had heather, only much more suddenly.

“Perhaps it didn’t work before because you’re meant to be the woman”, Theo said roughly, and he thrusted forward as he spoke. Stiles could feel his erection hard against his bare ass, Theo’s pants remarkably tense.

“Don’t you like that?”, Theo asked rhetorically, increasing the rhythm of his hips, jerking at Stiles. He enjoyed the wet friction as the boy was bent down before him.

“I know you do”, he continued, “that this is how it goes. It’s no surprise, really; you’re not even a full human, of course you’ll never be a man!”

 Theo’s voice was off, like he was talking through something. His nails were too sharp, digging into Stiles’s skin; and his breathing was deeper, more labored. Stiles choked a sob, his dick leaking precome and hanging flush and hard between his legs. Theo’s grip on his hips got stronger as his own pistoned hard, pushing him forward with intent and making him shudder.

“This is your fucking place”, Theo screamed, panting open-mouthed as he rolled his hips one more time before coming to a stop.

Stiles could feel Theo’s legs tense up, and there was warmth behind his ass. Theo shook for a few more seconds, and then let go of Stiles’s hip completely, white fading into red bruises as he slumped down.

“Shit”, Theo said, as if he hadn’t realized what he was doing until now.

Theo looked disappointed.  He moved away, mumbling something to himself. He got a glimpse of Stiles before disappearing into the bathroom, but it was enough for Stiles to see him open-mouthed, panting. He couldn’t make sense of what was happening, but that image stirred something in him.

When Stiles could focus again, Heather was changing the sheets. He’d come over the bed, just from Theo’s words echoing in his mind. But he could come out of the bathroom any second. They didn’t want that. Heather wasn’t calm, but she looked at him reassuringly, hurrying up.

“We need to leave now”, she said as she finished, “Stiles, it’s okay, it’s going to be okay”, she tried.

He fumbled to get his pants up, stunned with mortification, and they quickly got out.

When they were alone in the basement, he finally let go and cried onto her shoulders. Theo had managed to break him again.  

**Author's Note:**

> *There's not an act of rape but Theo attempts to make Stiles rape Heather and what happens afterwards falls under some definition of sexual assault.
> 
> Leave a comment if you liked it or have something valuable to say!


End file.
